Do You Want Dessert With That?
by MsWolffe
Summary: About nothing and everything. Little snippets over the years through someone else's point of view. Destiel, SamXOFC. CH2 "Sasha's stray is here again."
1. Lesson Nº 1

Lesson nº 1:

The Unemployed Writer Is Often Right (And Many Wish He Wasn't)

_Sasha slides into the diner, calm, without smiling. Her hair is messy, strands of it rebelled against the clutch of her bun at the base of her neck. She goes into the kitchen, and has a brief chat with the cook. Sasha comes out in her apron, notepad in the pocket of her skirt, and a ballpoint pen tucked hastily behind her ear._

_Sasha walks through the diner with flowing movements, professionally avoiding hazards- like Rembrandt, the old cat tangling between her ankles-; she takes orders, makes small talk with the usual patrons, refills mugs with coffee, all of it a fluid dance in which she knew the steps by heart. She waltzes around with the practiced ease of someone who had performed and rehearsed this a thousand- if not a million- times._

_Sasha is always polite, always ready to be of service, useful; she never pries too much, or offends, or takes offence. Sometimes she even joins in the customary light flirting with the regulars, but she doesn't laughs, she doesn't blushes, she doesn't smile._

_She never smiles._

_Sasha is the kind of girl that people don't notice when she's there; she's almost ethereal, silent, thin and frail and that sort of pale that implies she doesn't sees the sun a lot. And she doesn't. From dawn to sunset she partakes into the ritual of serving, refilling, carrying dishes, and sometimes washing and assisting with food-making. But for all of her lack of acknowledgment of her presence, her absence is duly noted by everyone. Sasha is the air, transparent, scentless, but surely everybody notices the suffocating lack of it. _

_Sasha is easy on the eyes, but she isn't beautiful and she knows it. Her brown hair is always in a state, soft waves and curls emancipating from the tyranny of whatever hairstyle she tries that day. Her lips are thin and pinkish, her nose long and straight. _

_Her eyes though, her eyes are what catch people's attention. _

_Her eyes are large and slightly droopy, giving her a perpetual world-weary expression- so unfair for a young girl, she's twenty but most of times she feels older. Much older. - It takes great skill to determine the colour of her irises, some would say they're muddy brown at first sight, some others that they're somewhere in between dirty green and dull hazel._

_Actually, they're grey. Cloudy grey. Stormy gray. _

_Sasha doesn't discusses her personal affairs, but she's always willing to lend an ear for those who need it. She's that kind of person you trust at sight, earthy and quiet and sometimes motherly. If she has any hobbies or passions, she disguises them well enough, for none that I've spoken to has had the knowledge to-_

"Are you still writing about me, Dorian?"

The man jumped slightly on his seat and looked at the waitress with the coffee pot in her right hand.

"More coffee?" She added in her tuneless voice.

Dorian scratched his perma-scruff in an embarrassed gesture, and nodded wordlessly.

"Ah, well, what can I say? You are art in movement, Sasha. Your every gesture practically begs to be written down."

"That's what you say of your every monthly fixation." She muttered absent-mindedly.

"_Fixation?_" He huffed. "Lovely, I enjoy observing people. Human nature is just so... fascinating. And I am a writer- or trying to be one. A word, a sigh, a gesture, a silence; all of that speaks volumes to me. I revel in documenting the simplicity of everyday's life- and you, my dear, are the best for doing that."

Sasha poured coffee into his mug. "Felicie says you're a drunk and a stalker." She said matter-of-factly, as if she had had this conversation many times before. She probably had.

"Felicie isn't known to be kind."

"True. I just don't see what's so marvellous about me that deserves to be written down."

"Oh, Sasha, you're just waiting to blossom into a flower. You think so little of you, you think you're so boring, but believe me, everything can turn upside down in a matter of minutes."

She arched a slender eyebrow to express her cynicism.

"For example, somebody could walk through the door right now and make a hundred-and-eighty degrees turn in your life."

"As if-"

The wind chimes sung their song with the door opening, and both turned to the sound. Dorian had a smug expression, and winked at the waitress.

"See? This could be your turnaround." He smirked at her.

"I doubt it." She blinked owlishly at the men entering the diner, father and son, she guessed. They sat by the window and discussed something in hushed tones. "Besides, they're in Felicie's area."

Dorian sighed and mumbled something about lack of dreaming, and turned to his writing once again.

Sasha stared at the men a moment longer before turning around and continuing with her tasks.

Ten minutes later she was on her way to the kitchen when Felicie caught her arm and spun her around, steering her away from her objective.

"Proposal: let's trade areas for today." Felicie stated more than asked.

Sasha sighed knowingly "A customer was flirting with you again?"

"Yup. Pretty guy with green eyes. You handle it; I'm _way_ already done with him."

"Will do." Sasha nodded. "You handle my area, then?"

Felicia winked at her and turned around to get to work, whipping some of her dark tresses over her shoulder. Sasha lost no time and walked over to her new assignment.

Pretty Guy With Green Eyes blinked at her when she slid in front of his table, notepad and pen ready, looking at him expectantly.

"Uhh, what happened with the other waitress?" He asked rather bluntly.

"Felicie doesn't like customers flirting with her." She heard herself repeating for what should be the ninth time that week.

"Wait, her name is _Felicie?"_ There was a smirk pulling at the corner of his lip. He whistled low between his teeth. "Figures an exotic chick like her to have an exotic name like that..."

Sasha glanced at the man across from Pretty Guy With Green Eyes; he was heavily engrossed into what appeared to be bits and pieces of newspaper articles, brow furrowed in concentration. Not her place to ask.

"Please don't call her _exotic_." Sometimes, Sasha wondered if she was destined to have the same déjà-vu's over and over again. "It offends her."

"She wears purple contacts."

"I stopped questioning her fashion choices a long time ago."

Not the first time she got engaged into a conversation with a customer regarding the other waitress. But then again, it was almost impossible to avoid the topic, after all. Felicie was tall and dark and beautiful. She had a regal air about her, and sway on her hips when she walked. Dorian once had mumbled that she was eroticism on two feet. Felicie had spilled hot coffee on his grey slacks.

"What will be you taking, then?" Sasha returned to business-mode, efficient, swift; down to earth and ready to be of service.

"Oh, yeah, right." He cleared his throat. "Dad?"

"Coffee. Black." Man Reading Newspaper Articles huffed out, and if Sasha was taken aback by his gruffness she said nothing. She only nodded and scribbled it down.

"And I'll have the cheese and bacon burger." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And pie. Do you have good pie?"

"Apple, cherry, or strawberry?"

"Apple would be awesome."

She nodded again and checked the order. Then she simply turned around and vanished into the kitchen.

"So, how did it go?" Felicie asked from her not-feeling-like-working-right-now corner, Rembrandt in her arms.

"He wasn't _that_ bad."

"Oh, please, you're _far_ too kind, Sasha." She brushed the cat behind his ears and the feline purred loudly.

"I thought Gran had told you to keep Rembrandt out of the kitchen. Hygiene issues."

"_Hygiene_ issues?" Felicie smirked. "He's cleaner than half the people in here, and Gran isn't here right now to tell me otherwise... And you're not going to rat on me, are you?"

Sasha sighed. "No."

The cook approached them, brandishing his weapon of choice- the big wooden spoon- and clicked his tongue at them. "Ladies, less chattering, more waiting tables." He scorned. "And Felicie, cat out of the kitchen. Wash your hands after leaving him outside."

Felicie sighed dramatically and looked sadly at Rembrandt. "_Ah, mon joli chat, ils ne comprennent pas..._"

* * *

"Say, uh...?"

"Sasha."

"Pretty name." He put an easy smile on display. Fifty percent charming, fifty percent assertive. And only a tad flirty.

"I always thought it was a dog's name." She replied without skipping a beat, making him choke on his burger.

"Uh, right..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sasha. I'm Dean." He rehearsed another smile, hiding a small wince. Then he briefly looked around for someone, or the _lack_ of someone, and seemed to be relieved. "So, anyways... Have you heard of anything unusual, lately?"

"Unusual?" She repeated back.

"Yeah, or strange? You know, weird."

She tilted her head and toyed with the hem of her apron. "Felicie keeps insisting on teaching the cat to speak French, even if our cook tells her that she should be trying with Italian."

"Okay..." He said slowly. "But nothing like, you know... Weird noises at night, or...?"

"No." She simply answered. Then another client whistled at her and she made motion to keep with her duties. "Although..." She added as an afterthought. "There was that incident on the Johnson farm... Three workers died, I think? A rabid dog. Unusual, but not _that_ unheard of."

* * *

Usually, she'd tune out pieces of conversations the clients had among them because, well, it was certainly not her business. She was doing her work and that alone, and right now her work consisted on trying to wipe an unreasonable sticky stain out of a table.

"Have you talked to your brother?"

She could hear Dean's father at her right, and she shouldn't listen, really, she shouldn't pry.

"Uhh..." She could _feel _Dean averting his eyes uncomfortably. "Nope, not really. But c'mon! You know Sammy! Right? I mean I know he said a lot of stuff back there..."

Okay, this was completely overstepping the boundaries. Whatever family issues they may or may not been having were for they to know about and for her to ignore.

Unless, of course, they happened to ask for her opinion, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? She shouldn't listen to this. She _so _shouldn't.

"... I'm pretty sure he didn't actually mean it! I mean he's probably just tryin' to make a point and... y'know... he'll be back real soon or..." Dean sighed. It was a little sound, but so strained and awkward that Sasha looked up from the stupid stain- what was even that supposed to _be_ anyways?- and looked at the pair. She accidentally caught the younger one's gaze and in a space of two seconds they measured each other.

He _knew _that she had listened. She noted the strain on his jaw, the thin line of his lips; he was radiating tension through his pores.

"Forget it." Dean said to his father, waving a hand to dismiss the subject a bit _too casually_ for the awkwardness in the environment. Then he gestured towards Sasha to approach them.

She chewed the inside of her cheek in shame.

She _really_ was a terrible waitress.

* * *

Sasha stood in front of them and tilted her head in mild amusement. "Felicie says you're _really_ dumb to _still _be trying to hit on her. And several other things I'm not sure I should repeat."

"Hello to you too, Sasha."

"...And she told me to say that she's gonna hex you or something if you keep that up." She recited like an old high school lesson.

At this, Dean startled on his seat and stole a glance at his father. John too was sitting straighter, his back tense and alert.

"Did you say _hex_ ? As in, well, a..._ witch_?"

"Actually..." Sasha pondered for a bit. "I've heard she's the descendant of Marie Laveau... If anything, she'd be a voodoo priestess and not a witch, right? Umm... I've never asked Felicie if she practices any of that though..." She looked lost in her mind for a bit, but shrugged it off and let it go. "In any case, please don't bother her."

"Duly noted." Dean shared another look with John; a possible voodoo priestess? That was something worth looking into. After they were done with this werewolf thing, of course.

"So. What will you be taking, then?"

* * *

The fourth time John and Dean Winchester entered the_ Cat's Tail_, three days later, Sasha automatically went through the motions of grabbing two coffees and a slice of pie and left them on their table, almost before they finished sitting. Without so much as a wave, she turned and kept on bustling through the very busy diner, her skirt swishing around her knees with every sharp turn she did, hair in disarray, but not once failing to deliver an excellent performance.

She refilled and wiped and served and she simply _breathed_ in the place. This? This she knew. This was her thing, her life.

To the kitchen. Back carrying two plates and a glass of wine. Wipe the coffee stain and keep an eye on her area. Take note; turn back, to the kitchen again. Three orders of the day special. Bring another beer for Mr. Mills.

And then take an exact total of seven seconds to stop, stand, and stare.

Sasha liked to stop sometimes, and just _look_, she may not write like others, but she looked nevertheless. She watched and took in several minimal details, a soft smile, tendrils of smoke from a cigarette, the way the light hit against the curtains, Rembrandt's tail swishing over the corner...

She breathed and revelled into things running smoothly in her realm in those seven seconds.

And then she exhaled and started it all again.

To the kitchen, back, forth, wave at the bikers that were surprisingly gentlemanly, get more ice for the nice girl in the table by the window, tell Felicie to get the cat out of the kitchen...

Passing by, echoes of different conversations made their way to her ears but she paid no heed to them. After the last fiasco she had made, she'd learn her lesson and wasn't planning any soon to spying on other's talks. And, she was working.

Some of the words that she gathered around were "hunt", "son of a bitch" "tomorrow", and "full moon".

She thought nothing of them.

She should have known better.

* * *

It was late and she should have been home already but she wasn't. She had been running errands for her grandma since five in the afternoon and the ran got caught up into a conversation with an elderly neighbour which escalated into inviting her over for some tea and she had spent too much time listening to the lady's tales of scandalous romances of her youth and scratching in between the fat Basset Hound's ears. And now it was late and dark and she should return before her grandma threw a fit- which, she always did anyways.

Sasha decided to cut through the park, it would save her fifteen minutes of walk, and, besides, it wasn't _that_ late, and it was a safe enough town. She had done it a million times before, it was just a ten minute stroll along the dirt path between the trees and that was it. Easy cake.

There was really no reason for her to be this tense about it, right?

Right.

_Wrong._

She heard _something_, something moving and making the leaves crunch, but she shrugged it off as some small nocturnal animal and kept walking. Then there was a sort of low growl that wasn't entirely animal but _definitely_ not quite human, and Sasha stopped dead in her tracks to listen.

Come to think of it...

She had just been talking a few days ago with Dean about the recent animal attacks, hadn't she? But... But that had happened on the forest and this was the park and rabid dogs couldn't have come this far into the town without being noticed and-

Something growled again, nearer this time, and Sasha jumped. Her heart picking up, she walked faster, forcing herself not to run and trying to rationalise that it was nothing, really, and it was all perfectly fine...

But it really, _really wasn't_, because in a brief moment she saw the shadow of something big and could have sworn there was a pair of bright eyes looking at her from the dark. Swallowing hard she ran, she ran and _felt_ something running after her. Pumped by the adrenaline she made the promise to wear comfortable shoes next time she decided to take a shortcut alone at night- though maybe this thought was just erratic and wild thanks to her panicking- and there was this _thing_ right behind her chasing her and _oh God_ what if it was one of those rabid dogs that attacked her? No, no, no...

Something appeared in front of her and she cried and stumbled but didn't fall down. Something- someone?- grabbed her by the forearms and was now shaking her gently.

"Hey, hey calm down angel, what's wrong?"

She looked up to the tall figure of the cook- he always looked weird without his work clothes- and forced herself to stop trembling.

"Oh, Joe! It's you, thank God!"

"Yes, it's me. Did something happen? Why were you running like the Devil was at your heels?"

She stiffed and looked around. There were no bright eyes looking at her from the dark. There was nothing growling and definitely nothing after her.

Huh.

Maybe she imagined everything?

"I was... I was taking a shortcut and I thought I heard something..."

"Like what?"

"Umm. Nevermind, I'm sure it was nothing. I'm just jumpy, that's all... What are you doing here anyway?"

Joseph smiled cheekily at her. "Nightly stroll." He shrugged. "I like this place a lot. It helps me clear my mind off of things. You want me to walk you home? Just in case you hear something again?" He added in a light teasing tone that was familiar by now.

She rolled her eyes but accepted nevertheless.

Sasha just hoped he wouldn't tell Felicie or the older girl would never let her live it down. She could hear it already "_What? Really, Sasha? Afraid of the dark much?"_

Joe snapped her out of her thoughts with an overdramatic sigh.

"What is it?" She asked, already dreading the answer.

"Nothing."

"Alright."

They fell into a tense silence until Joe sighed loudly again.

"It'd be easier if you just _told me_ instead of putting all this theatrics..."

He snorted. "You need to have more fun."

"And that's just your opinion."

"No, it's a fact. What do you even _do _besides working? Don't you have any kind of dreams?"

"...Not really." She replied after a while. Maybe she'd had, once, but Sasha was a realist and knew her place very well by now.

"Seriously? You're young; don't you wanna go see the world, do big things? You know, I hear some places are still taking applications... You're smart; you could get into, say, Stanford if you wanted."

"Joe, listen." She stopped walking. "It's lovely for you to worry, but really, I'm fin-"

"You're _withering_, angel." He looked at the girl with profound care in his eyes. "You're withering and everybody can see it. We're all concerned about you, that's it."

"Well, don't be." She felt a blush creeping on her cheeks. Thank God it was dark enough to pass unnoticed. "And what if I was as miserable as you think I am, what should I do, then? Just- just drop everything and go study in a fancy place and get dreams and do things? I _can't. _I can't just run away and to hell with everything." She was tired. Tired of the same thing over and over again. She didn't need big adventures. She wasn't even sure she _wanted _them. It was fine.

If she never looked into what she was missing then she'd be perfectly content with what she had.

"Listen Sasha-"

"No, Joe. It's really sweet that you care, honest, but just... _don't. _I'm just fine."

"_No_, no! I mean _listen!_" He looked around with shifty eyes. "Can't you hear that?"

She looked around, only seeing the slightly blurry light of the old-fashioned lampposts that adorned the path every now and then. "Hear what?"

"I- There's something wrong...Too quiet..."

She shifted her weight and crossed her arms over her chest. "Hah. Funny, Joe. Let's all tease Sasha."

He gulped. "No, kid. I'm serious." He looked around again. "Come on let's hurry out of here..." He put a protective arm around her shoulders and dragged her close.

She had been about to ask what was up with all that, but they only took a handful of steps together before something _snapped_ and growled behind them, and Sasha turned around to see a pair of eyes neither human nor animal. With the eyes there were fangs, and claws, and another beastly growl. It jumped heading straight for the girl- something primitive and instinctual screamed at her to _move_, get _out of the damn way_- as she was pinned to her place on the ground.

Joe pushed her aside roughly and she stumbled, snapping out of her trance.

"Run!"

That was when the last of any sort of coherent thought took place, because then it all became a blur of motions where she saw the _thing_ pounce on Joe instead of her and take him down before she started blindly running, guided solely on some repressed survival instinct she didn't know she possessed.

Some part of her vaguely remembered hearing Joe's screaming tearing into the night as she ran.

That was the exact moment in her life in which she most hated herself.

The creature wasn't entertained for long. Maybe the thrill of the chase made it impossible not to follow Sasha once it realised she was running. She didn't know, she wasn't aware of much, only of the ache on her body and the frantic beating of her heart and that she may or may not have been crying- she had been- and then she was aware of twisting her ankle and falling down, head hitting on a rock, _hard._

There were three gunshots, and then the body of the creature collapsing with a loud _thump_ on the ground.

Someone gently helped her up and she heard an _'oh, shit!'_ being exclaimed around her, but she couldn't tell what was going on, it was all still too hazy and her body was too numb to register anything.

She did felt something sticky dripping down her forehead though.

A coat was draped around her arms and another person approached, both talking in hushed tones.

She got the words "dead", "finally", "won't get anybody else" and "too bad it still got him".

Then she was being lead to a car, heard the rumble of the engine and then the world slipped out of her grasp.

When Sasha woke up later she was in the kitchen of the diner, nestled on the comfortable chair Felicie used when she was slacking off. Something cold and damp dabbed at her forehead, and her eyelids slowly fluttered open.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

She managed to focus her vision into a pair of green dots that turned out to be eyes.

"Dean...?"

"Yeah, it's me. You're talking, that awesome." He smiled at her and took the damp towel away from her forehead. "Besides you're not bleeding that much, I think you won't even need stitches. I'll just, uh, bandage it and it'll be alright."

She blinked drowsily at him. "Okay..." Then she looked around. "How...?"

"Oh, yeah, you may want to change the lock. It was _way _too easy to pick. We would've taken you to the hospital but... that would've meant too many questions..."

The next minutes consisted of Dean dutifully disinfecting her wound- she had hissed- and applying a bandage to her forehead, all the while talking nonsense and little reassurance words that Sasha hadn't been able to focus on.

When he finished, he simply let her blink owlishly while her mind finished the rebooting process.

"So... what do you remember?" He asked earnestly.

Sasha frowned deep in thought and then almost jumped at the rush of memories, eyes widening in the process.

"Oh my God..." She whispered. "There was a... thing. What was that thing?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Well... that would've been a werewolf." He said slowly, watching her reaction carefully.

"A..." She gulped. "Alright. Joe. Is Joe...?"

"Dead". He winced at his own choice of words. "I'm sorry."

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh God." She whispered. "Oh God."

"Dad's getting care of the bodies."

"You killed it? The... _werewolf_?"

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she noticed she was wrapped on a leather jacket. "Yeah, we ganked the son of a bitch."

"Oh. Okay that's... that's good." She ran a trembling hand through her now dirty hair, her fingers catching into knots. Then she suddenly stood up and Dean had to catch her by the elbow when her bad ankle couldn't hold her weight.

"Woah! Easy there!"

"Im fine!." She all but squeaked in a little voice. "I'm fine. I need... I need to do something. Would you, ah, would you like some coffee? I already know how you take it."

"Hey, sit, calm down." He tried to gently ease her into the chair again but she retreated from his grasp.

"No! Doing stuff calms me. So... so I'm going to make coffee."

She found some comfort on performing a mundane little thing at a time like this. Still shaking, she poured coffee into two mugs and almost as an afterthought, she mumbled _'fuck it'_ and grabbed whipped cream from the fridge. Only after she poured a generous amount of it inside her mug and stirred it with a spoon she handed the other mug to Dean and sat down again.

He had taken one of the chairs from the main area and sat in front of her in silence while the girl sipped her overly sweet coffee.

"So..." She started after a while, apparently calmer than before. "Werewolves."

"Yeah."

"Are, you know other things...? Uh, like-"

"Ghosts? Vampires? Yup. Most of all those things are true."

Sasha swallowed down a big gulp of coffee. "And... And you, you what? Go 'round killing them?"

Dean drank some of his own coffee. "Me and my Dad? We're hunters. That means that yeah, we go 'round killing 'em." He stopped and started into his mug. If he expected to find the answer of the universe inside it, Sasha thought that he'd be disappointed, but not for lack of trying. "It ain't easy, most times. It's more than just a job, y'know? It's your entire life. But hey" He shrugged. "Someone has to do it, right?"

"So... there are other people like you?"

"Other hunters? Sure, but I'm sure you won't find one as _charming _as me." He winked at her.

Sasha just stared at him unblinkingly, long enough to make him uncomfortable. Well, suits him for making cheesy jokes at a moment like this.

"Umm, so anyway" He downed the rest of his coffee. "You seem to be taking this info rather well considering... well, considering." He finished off lamely.

She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. "No, no I'm not taking this well. I'm... I guess I'm partly still in shock." She rocked back and forth a couple of times. The jacket was too big on her, making her look small and fragile- more than usual. "But, oh my God, Joe..." She blinked back tears. "The thing-_ werewolf_- was after _me_. The stupid, stupid man just _had _to play hero..." She trailed of, voice cracking.

Dean shifted awkwardly. "I'm... I'm sorry. If we'd been there sooner..." His eyes were riddled with guilt.

"No, don't be an idiot, you saved me." She patted his knee absent-mindedly. "He just... He didn't deserve that..."

"Nobody does..." Dean muttered, rubbing his neck with one hand. "You were close, I take it?"

Sasha nodded. "He was part of the family, kinda. I basically grew up with him. He was a good man... Hit me in the head with the wooden spoon once or twice to put me on the right path..." Dean snorted at this. "And you?"

"Me what?" He startled.

"It's just you and your Dad?"

He grimaced, and she could sense that she hit a tender spot with that question.

"My Mom died when I was four. One of these..." He gestured vaguely. "Things killed her, that's how we got into hunting."

"Oh." She said, because she didn't know what else to say.

"I have a little brother though. Sammy." Dean smiled. "Good kid, a bit- and with that I mean a _really_- stubborn. And quite the nerd. But his heart is on the right place." He shrugged.

"But, uh, he's not with you and...?" She trailed off; connecting the dots with the conversation she had been caught snooping into before.

"Uh. No." For a while it looked like it was all Dean was going to say. He seemed to reconsider though, because after a while he added: "Got into this big fight with Dad. They kinda... They've kinda been finghting for some time now, but this time... Well. He went off to Stanford." Sasha appreciated the irony there. "Last time I saw him was when I took him to the bus stop." Dean shrugged again, but this time it was half-hearted. "But what you gonna do, right?"

Whatever deep bonding could have happened was interrupted by the front door opening and closing softly. Dean's stance changed from the relaxed posture he had been falling into, to the one of a soldier, back straight and attentive.

John Winchester came into the kitchen, shovel in hand. He looked at Sasha.

Sasha looked at him.

"So you're awake." He commented. "How are you coping?"

"I'm..." She looked around for invisible words. "I'm alive."

He nodded, approving of her answer. Then he turned to his son. "Dean? We have to go. Now."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, sure. Alright." Dean stood up and left his mug on the counter. "Thanks, uh, thanks for the coffee. Will you be alright?"

"Three days."

"What?"

"Once." Sasha commented. "I heard somewhere that the brain takes three days to adjust. Ask me that again in three days."

Dean just nodded and waved at her, and then followed his father outside.

Three days...

Sasha downed the rest of her coffee and went to wash both mugs, realising in the process that she had still the leather jacket around her shoulders. Well... They had left without leaving her an address or phone number, so there was nothing she could do about it except keeping it just in case.

Still, a big part of herself thought that she would not be seeing Dean again. After all, this was one small town with one small diner, and the odds of meeting him again giving his lifestyle were rather slim.

But she _did _see him again. Not until almost a year later.

She was going to kill Dorian, though.

* * *

**FOR THOSE WHO KNOW ME ALREADY: yep, I know I didn't say that I was going to do this thing. I'm supposed to be doing another thing- and it will be done, but that'll be a side project, and taken slowly. And I hope you like this thing too!**

**FOR THOSE WHO DON'T KNOW ME: hello.**


	2. Lesson Nº 2

Lesson nº 2: Sometimes It's Good To Hold Onto Forgotten Things

_ALTERNATIVELY:_

'Little' Doesn't Mean the Same Thing To Everyone

"Good evening, how can I be of-?"

"Wait. Sasha, was it?"

"Well... yes, I-" She finally looked up from her little notepad that had a serious case of lack of doodles. "Dean?"

"You betcha."

Sasha blinked slowly and twisted anxiously the hem of her apron in her right hand. "I wasn't expecting to... uh..." She trailed off. "Is everything alright? I mean... last time you were here..."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm just passing by. Got a job on the _next town_." He reassured with a smile.

"That's, uh..." She fiddled with her apron a bit more. "I'm sorry; I _really_ don't know what's usually said in these situations." Sasha admitted.

She spoke with such a brutal honesty and earnestness that Dean had to disguise a guffaw of laughter behind a very poorly executed cough.

If Sasha actually took any sort of offence by the action, she didn't say anything.

"It's alright." He smiled. "So, uh, can I order now?"

"What...? Oh, right... Of course, I'm so sorry, I'm a terrible waitress."

"Hey, hey, relax 'kay? Don't need to get so..." He vaguely gestured towards her with a hand. "...Yeah."

Sasha blinked owlishly. "Alright." She straightened her back. "What will have for today, then?"

* * *

Being a hunter did terrible things to a person's moral code sometimes.

Nobody _paid_ for taking down monsters-okay, yeah, so Dean may have had a few... _recompenses _for his services every now and then, but that wasn't the point. And since it was a life that _definitely _put any sort of regular- _civilian_- nine-to-five job out of the table, hunters survived on anything they could.

For Dean, it was mostly hustling pool and faking credit cars. He never felt bad for that. Sammy was always the one that threw a bitch fit every now and then for those things. He had always been the one to have so called 'moral struggles' out of the two.

Not Dean.

Dean understood that it was necessary for surviving, for getting food and basic necessities. He got around paying with fake-or stolen- credit cards as many things as he could.

Right now though, he was seriously thinking on paying in cash.

There was a voice in the back of his head- and _dammit _he could've sworn it was Sammy's voice- telling him that it wouldn't be right.

Damn everything.

It was Sasha's fault, honestly. Dean frowned and took out his wallet-

"Wait, wait!"

He turned his head just in time to see the aforementioned waitress twirl to avoid a small puddle of something sticky on the floor- _ew_-; take an empty beer bottle from a poorly-shaved man that was writing furiously on a napkin, and head straight to his own table. She stopped and flattened her hair absently- though if anything, it only messed it up more in Dean's eyes- and didn't seem out of breath by her diner-gymnastics at all.

He'd give her that, the girl was efficient.

"It's on the house." Sasha didn't quite smile, per se, but her face softened in a way that, for once, didn't make her look so weary.

"Huh?" Dean replied oh-so-smoothly. "You don't mean that."

She nodded eagerly and a couple more of stray hairs bobbed out of her bun. "Yes, I do. If you hadn't been here last time..." She bit the inside of her cheek. "Consider it payment. For... everything. It's extended until I tell you otherwise."

"Okay, you're not serious right now."

"I am."

Dean licked his lips. "So... you're saying that I can eat for free in here" His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. "_Anytime I want?_"

"Yes? Was I confusing?"

He whistled in between his teeth. "Wow. You sure you can do this, right?"

"...Yes."

"Okay... Alright. In that case, can I have some of that awesome pie to go?" He flashed Sasha a smile she didn't return.

"Of course. But first wait here a minute."

Dean watched as the girl turned around and disappeared behind a nondescript door he hadn't seen before, still unable to believe his luck. She returned not five minutes later with a bundle in her hands, and then offered it to him.

"You left this here last time." She just said.

He took it from her and realised what it was; his leather jacket. He grinned. "Oh, dude, I had totally forgotten where I left it!" He huffed out a sigh. "I mean, _I _was upset, but my dad? When he realised I had lost it he-" He stopped mid-speech, shuffling uneasily. "He, uh... he wasn't very happy." And he left it at that.

Sasha simply listened, and if she was curious as to why Dean's mood had shifted to something darker and why his Adam's apple bobbed up and down with a swallowed gulp, she didn't acknowledge it.

"I'll go get your pie." Was her only answer.

Many years later, Dean considered that exact moment as the point in which Sasha started to grow on him.

* * *

"Oh, would you just look at that? _Tch."_

"¿Qué?"

"Sasha's stray is here again."

"Her...? Oh, _that's _the guy? Uh, leather jacket, almost too pretty?"

"Oui, that's the guy. Ugh. It must be like the fourteenth time he's been here in what, six months?"

"Well... I'd go to a place where they give me free food as much as I can too, bonita."

"So you're on his side now?"

"I'm on the food's side. That's why I'm a cook. Duh."

"You still haven't told me what that word means."

"What, _bonita_?"

"Yes."

"Learn Spanish and you'll know. Or, just, you know, google it."

"Maybe I will. Oh, where's Sasha? He's waiting and I'm _so _not going to-"

"I know I'm still kinda new, Feli, but I still don't get why you don't like the guy."

"See? You're on _his _side."

"Please stop gossiping about the customers." Sasha recited boredly, a coffee pot on her hand. "Felicie, I'll take care of Dean, you take the cat out of the kitchen. Santino, _you _go inside the kitchen."

* * *

"Good evening, Dean."

"Hey Sasha. It's been a while, huh?"

She pursed her lips. "Around eight months, I think."

"What, that much?" He scratched absently at his five o' clock shadow. "I think I've been busier than what I thought."

"That's alright."

"Dad's in the car. We're heading for a job; so, uh, just prepare to go whatever's already made."

"Wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Dean stilled. "My dad..." He licked his lips."He does the best he can." He said it with such conviction that a tremor ran through Sasha; it was the same conviction that soldiers possessed right before going on their first tour.

She also entertained the thought that she had only seen John Winchester a handful of times, and while she wasn't one to judge, he had seemed a bit sour.

Sasha was feeling particularly bold that day. Instead of simply keeping silent and listening, she replied;

"Don't we all?" And walked away.

* * *

"I wanted to call Sammy the other day."

Sasha refilled Dean's coffee and waited for him to continue. If he wanted to.

"I went as far as dialling his number. I couldn't do it."

"That's alright." She answered. She was used to some customers venting to her, just wanting to talk out their issues, maybe even seek for some words of comfort. That she knew how to do. Not with smiles or hugs or kisses, but she provided comfort nevertheless. Sasha was grounding wire, she was steady- unless something out of normal such as being attacked by a werewolf was meddling with her poor nerves- it was easy to count on her.

"But what if it's not alright?" Dean continued. "He's my little brother. I've taken care of him since... _always_. And I haven't talked to him _a word_ in, what? Three years?"

"Then talk to him."

"I _can't_."

"Then don't."

"...You're not being a great help here." He grunted at her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat on it." He waved a hand dismissing the subject. "But... what should I do?"

Sasha stared at him. "You're asking _me_?"

"Yeah."

"_Why?"_

He shrugged. "Why not?"

And then, because she was uneasy with the thought of affecting so much Dean's relation with his brother she said; "Don't look so gloom." She frowned. "You're supposed to be lighter. More cheerful."

Dean snorted. "Well _that's _some advice. You forgot roguishly handsome though."

"No, I didn't."

* * *

"Felicie"

"Yes, Sasha?"

"Dorian tells me you threw him a glass of wine."

"Yes."

"Please don't."

"Why?"

"He says it ruined his last manuscript."

"It was probably stupid."

"It's still ruined."

"I'm not going to apologise."

"Then don't. Just please don't spill anything else on him."

"Hmm. I'll try."

* * *

Sasha had traded her usual bun for a low ponytail, simply to get her hair out of the way. She was wearing a deep blue dress; she had probably worn it twice before_- if so_. Joe had gotten it for her when she turned eighteen.

It was around mid-morning, and the sun peaked out from time to time behind the occasional cloud. A small whisper of wind played with the hem of her dress around her knees. It was a nice day to be out in the farmer's market.

She wasn't particularly picky about the food, she never had been, but having grown up in a small town with a strict grandmother had her used to mostly organic, fresh food. She had tried some weird chicken-garlic flavoured chips. _Once. _The taste had been so alien that Felicie had laughed at the face she was pulled for the rest of the day.

Besides, she _liked _the market. It was lively and colourful, and every few stands there was someone selling some sort of hand-made assorted things, from paintings to bracelets made of leather or macramé. Right now, she was holding a big cardboard box in both her hands filled with varied things from tomatoes to radishes and nuts- some for re-stocking the kitchen at the diner, some for her own fridge or her grandma's- and some other plastic bags hanging from her wrists. It was heavy, but she could manage as long as she didn't perform any sudden movement that misbalanced her. Also, there was that lovely stand of photography that always caught her attention...

"Morning, Sasha!" Henry was only a couple of years older than herself and had wavy black hair that he always spent too much time styling as if he had just gotten out of bed.

"Hello." She answered.

"Anything in particular you'd like to see?"

Henry liked to capture in his photographs something he called _stolen moments_, since he preached it was truly beautiful to catch unaware smiles and hidden expressions. He always sent a copy to the subjects, and only framed and sold the pictures with their permission.

"Is that Gran?" She asked, looking at a black and white photography, framed with thin slick silver.

"Yup. Took it two weeks ago. Wanna see it closely?"

"Please."

Henry took it down from its stand and placed it on the counter. The photograph had been taken at the diner, and it showed Anna sitting in her cushioned chair, French braid neatly falling over her shoulder, Rembrandt curled in her lap. The lady was looking at some point over the camera, expression severe, one eyebrow raised in defiance.

One corner of her lips though was slightly quirked upwards, and Sasha could only guess that she was about to call Felicie and Santino back to work. She was a strong woman, territorial, and more often than not, terrifying. She wasn't unkind, and everyone knew it, but sometimes Sasha couldn't help but wonder...

"Do you want me to send it to you? You look kinda busy."

Sasha snapped out of her musings and looked back at Henry. "If it's not much trouble..."

"Nope, don't worry. First thing in the morning I'll do tomorrow." He winked at her. "You can pay me later, go on now, shoo, on your way!"

She achieved a grand total of three steps- in which she reprimanded herself later for looking down at her feet instead of at the road- when something that certainly felt like a _wall_ collided with her, making her trip and drop the box and most of its contents.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

She gathered her bearings enough to notice that the wall wasn't a wall, but a person, and she mumbled something along the lines of 'no, I wasn't watching' while accepting an offered hand to stand up again. The hand was big and warm and calloused and it belonged to a guy.

Now, Sasha wasn't short, but she felt completely dwarfed next to him. He was _tall. _Ridiculously tall.

"Again, I'm _really _sorry." He said, and she liked the openness in his eyes, even if they were somewhat obscured by a messy fringe.

"It's alright." And she let go of his hand because it was a too-familiar gesture for someone she hadn't seen once in her life. Which obviously meant he was new, just passing through the town or on vacation- _ha, right_- or visiting someone, or whatever reason it might be; it was definitely the first time she'd seen him around.

Before Sasha could react, however, he was already bending over and gathering her things again in the box. "Oh, really there's no need." She told him, helping him on the task. "I'm sure you're headed somewhere, I can deal with-"

"It's no trouble, honest."

"But..."

"Unless you don't want me to help?"

"It's not that I don't _want_-" She inhaled sharply. This was turning awkward really fast. "I appreciate it. But you don't _have _to."

He shrugged. "I'd feel bad if I just left you here." He lifted the now full-again box into his arms. "Woah, this is heavy."

"I can manage." Sasha remembered to dust off her dress, she liked it too much.

"I didn't say you couldn't." He answered a bit too fast. "Where you headed too far?"

"I, uh, no, a couple of blocks, but-"

"Awesome. Then can I help you with this?"

"It's okay, you don't have to-"

"I told you I want to. Besides I'm kinda meeting my brother and he'll be pissed if I arrive late." He smiled. "He's been a bit of an ass so I wanna keep him waiting."

"Alright." Sasha sighed. "Follow me then." She started walking, and it never occurred to her that she didn't ask his name and that he didn't ask hers.

"This may be a long shot..." He said after a few minutes of stretched silence. "But is there any chance that we're going to this diner, uh... something about a cat?"

She stopped and looked at him. "The Cat's Tail. Yes. How did you know?"

He shrugged- awkwardly, thanks to the box- and smiled sheepishly. "Lucky guess. You kinda have the small town waitress look, uh, no offence."

"None taken."

"But that's actually the place where I'm supposed to meet my brother."

Sasha could already see the old neon sign that didn't quite work properly on the next block. "Then you won't be arriving late."

He shrugged again. "Win some, lose some, right?"

She omitted any comment and walked the final steps to the establishment, holding the door open for her companion to enter through. First thing she heard was an argument between Felicie and a voice she had come to known well enough in the past years.

"What do you mean _there's no pie?_" Dean was frowning, he almost looked offended.

"What, do I speak another language?" Felicie's voice was laced with poison.

Most of the diner had their heads turned around to watch, and even Santino was out of the kitchen, elbow against the bar-closed except weekends- looking interestingly amused.

"Look." Felicie crossed her arms over her chest. "It's Sasha's day off. Do you even know how much I had to insist for her to take _one _day off? Which is also the reason why she's not dealing with you. Which is also the reason why I have to work double today. And it's also the reason why there's no pie. Comprenez-vous?"

"Wait, you mean she's the one who makes the pies?"

"Duh. Family recipe and whatnot. What, didn't you know?"

He just huffed a grumpy '_no'_ .

Sasha heard the tall guy sigh. Anticipating what he was about to say, she beat him to it. "You can leave the box on that empty table next to you. I'll take care of the rest."

He nodded and did that and then-

"Sammy? _Finally! _Wait, you met Sasha? Talk about small word, huh."

Sasha turned around at Dean's voice. He had stood up and walked up to her and...

She eyed the tall guy warily. "_You _are Sammy?" She asked, disbelieving. He winced.

"Sam." He corrected. "Not _Sammy._ And you are...?"

"Someone who shouldn't be here granted it's her day off!"

Felicie walked with long proud strides and stopped right in front of Sasha. She pointed at her chest with one elegant dark finger, accusing. "_You._ Were you just _working_?"

"I..."

"No. I don't wanna hear it. Ferme la bouche. Zip. You were out restocking. And no-nonsense about all of this" She gestured the big cardboard box. "Being for you and Gran. You two barely eat anything. The purpose of a day off is to stop thinking about work!"

"Yes but I-"

"No! You. Out. I don't wanna see you around for the rest of the day. Shoo!"

"...Felicie, I live upstairs." Sasha added in a small voice.

"_Shoo!"_

"What I am even supposed to do all day?"

Felicie stared unfazed at the younger girl. "I don't care. Take a walk. Smell the roses. Go. Out." She suddenly looked at Dean. "You." Back at Sasha. "Take him with you. He's _your _stray."

"I- _what?_" Dean stuttered horrified, while Sam made a poor excuse of fake-coughing.

"You heard me." Felicie continued. "You go with little Sasha and make sure she actually relaxes. And don't you _dare_ ditching her, you come back with her here at closing time, or so help me, I _will hex you!"_

Dean gulped at this, while Sasha simply stared at her worn flat shoes. Felicie turned to Sam then. "That goes for you too, since you seem to know this stray. Now go on! I don't wanna look at your faces any longer! _Shoo!"_

Without any semblance of respect she threw the three of them out the door, and just to prevent further arguments, she locked it behind her and shot a final sharp look.

Sasha sighed.

"I'm sorry for that." She twirled the end of her ponytail in her fingers.

"I like that woman less and less every time." Dean sulked. "And I'm still hungry."

"Umm." Sam chimed in. "Is she always like that...?"

"Yes." Sasha and Dean answered at the same time.

"And that part about hexing...?"

The waitress shrugged. "Maybe. I never asked if she actually practices voodoo." She bit her lip. "But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't hex you. Unless she had good reasons."

"Gee, that is _so _reassuring..." Dean muttered. "So. Where to?"

"I'm not sure... The park? There are some food stands there."

"Uh, but isn't there where-?"

"Yes." She cut him short. "It took me a year to go there again. But I don't talk about that."

* * *

"So" Sam sat down next to the girl in a bench; Dean was off getting a hotdog- or two, or ten- while the other two waited. "Sasha, was it?"

She ripped her eyes from the small lake- more of a pond, actually- in front of them and looked at Sam.

"Yes."

He nodded. "Nice name." And offered a politically correct smile.

"I've always thought it was kind of a dog's name."

Instead of being confused, he answered without thinking; "I like dogs."

She was the one taken aback instead. Sasha stared at him quizzically, her big eyes blinking owlishly. "Thanks?"

"Uh... Yeah." He cleared his throat. "So you're the one that's been feeding my brother's void of a stomach for free." A smile tugged at his lips. "That's why that angry girl called him, uh, your _stray_, right?"

"Yes" She sighed. "At least she said stray and not leech this time..."

"Why was she so upset anyway?"

Sasha's face softened. "Felicie is just like that. She might be harsh and mean, but she's good where it counts."

"Really." He arched an eyebrow. "You've known her for a long time, huh."

"All my life." Sasha stared into the lake. "She's just..." She shrugged. "She's like that." And it was a poor excuse, but honestly? She didn't feel like sharing her innermost thoughts with a guy she had just met. Even if said guy was Dean's brother. She was much better at listening anyways.

Dean chose that time to come back, a hot dog in each hand, and sat down at Sasha's left side. Sam was on the right.

"Sooo..." The older Winchester dragged. "What do we do now?"

Sasha bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not sure."

"You... don't have many days off, do you?" Dean asked around a mouthful of hotdog- Sam winced at this.

"No."

"Yeah, I can see that. You're awfully pale-"

"_Dean._" Sam warned.

"-When was the last time you went to a beach? I bet it's been a _long_ time."

"... Try 'never'..." She mumbled.

"Shut up! You serious?!"

"_Dean!_" Sam scrunched his face.

"What?" He turned to his brother. "Sammy we were raised killing freaking _monsters_, and even _we _went to the beach at least a handful of times! Oh, quit with the bitch face, she _knows_, how do you think I met her?"

"Maybe you hit on her mercilessly like you do with everything female in a five-mile radius?"

"Ha. Ha. _No_." Dean huffed. "Dad and I were hunting a werewolf and it just happened to attack her. That's why she doesn't charge me for food."

"_Technically_" Sasha said, matter-of-factly. "We met because you flirted with Felicie and she refused to take your order afterwards."

Sam smirked triumphant at his brother, as if he was saying _'Ha! See?'._

"What?" Dean defended himself. "Can you really blame me? She's ridiculously hot!"

"_DEAN. _Her friend is right here!"

"That was a compliment!"

Sasha gazed at them both. They looked winded up, but not _really_ angry. She gathered this was how they usually behaved with each other, pushing each other's buttons from time to time. From what Dean had told her, however, it had been clear that he loved his brother very much- and Sasha felt the feeling was returned by Sam.

* * *

"When was the last time we did something like this?"

Dean looked at Sam, who in turn was looking at Sasha, who was kneeling near the pond, throwing breadcrumbs at the ducks.

"Because I can't really remember." Sam continued.

"I can." Deam smiled a bit. "You were seven. We were in, uh, Michigan or something. Dad was after a ghost and had to leave for a couple of days. You were throwing a fit about... whatever you threw fits about by then. So I took you to a lake and gave you crackers for the ducks."

Sam's lips curved upwards. "I think I remember now. Wasn't then when this really angry duck bit you and you screeched? "

"Hey! It was a _goose! _And I didn't _screech_!"

"Sure you didn't."

* * *

"I'm sorry you had to be stuck with me for today." Sasha was turning off the lights; Santino had just bid his goodnight and went away walking-_dragging_- Felicie with him.

"Nah, it was kinda cool." Dean answered, leaning against the wall. "You still owe me pie though."

"I'll keep that in mind." She turned to Sam. "Of course I extend to you the free-of-charge courtesy."

Sam shuffled uncomfortable. "Uh, I don't know if I'd-"

"Dude. Free food. Accept it."

"It's no trouble, really. You can pay me back by killin- doing what you do."

* * *

"Dean."

The road was almost empty, and, for once, there wasn't a cassette with classic rock blasting through the speakers; only the purring of the engine.

"Yeah?"

"What were we _really _doing there?" There was an edge of... something, on Sam's voice.

"Told ya, I was hungry, good food without paying... Even if that didn't turn out how I was expecting."

"Dean. We detoured _thirteen miles_ to go there."

"So?"

"Well... At first I thought you had a thing with the waitress. I mean, I didn't get _why _on Earth someone would feed your endless stomach for free unless they had a thing with you."

"Me and Sasha? Oh hell no. Don't take me wrong, I mean, I like her and all but she's _so _not my type. Nah."

"Then?"

Dean shrugged.

"I dunno. I guess I like seeing her from time to time. She kinda... puts things on perspective. Also it's nice to be reminded why we keep hunting."

"So that people like her- normal people- can keep that way?"

"Yeah."

"I get that. She looked... nice. The sort of person that makes you want to tell them everything."

Dean snickered, but still said; "Yeah, I know what you mean."

A heavy silence fell then, loaded of things, dark doubts and hesitance.

"Dean, I-"

"We'll find him. I promise, Sammy, we'll find dad." He swallowed. "It's going to be fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just fine."


End file.
